Brilliance

By Viridian Magpie

Chapter Summary: how could a grieving, angry and upset 21-year-old boy come and leave Hogwarts' ground undetected AND kill a professor in cold blood in-between?

Disclaimer: What? You don't believe that I own Harry Potter?

AN: I have no justifications for this delay, just an excuse: real life. Or in other words, 2004 meant for me: last year at school, final exams, practical training, university, driver's licence. I have to learn another foreign language (hey, I'm tetralingual now, four freaking languages, urk, never mind about the fifth one that's also obligatory for the courses I'm taking and I haven't even started on it yet). Add to that the fact that since I don't have enough money to move, I'm on the road almost four hours/day, four days a week… and holidays begin in mid-February (I'm not U.S., so the dates are different) sighs I'll try to update more frequently but I can't promise anything. Sorry.

Talking about the fifth language, I have the choice between French, Italian or Spanish. Got any advice?

Chapter Eleven: Whodunit

There are things that are easier done than said. For instance, a comforting pat on the back is preferable to a litany of stuttered words of condolence. (The latter always provides a chance to put your foot in your mouth and we all know just how adept I am at that).

Then there are things that are easier said than done. Finding a dangerous murderer being one of them. As soon as we had called a meeting of HUMM and James and Peter had accepted our proposal, we realised that there were a whole lot of things you had to consider.

Firstly, just where exactly do you start?

Secondly, how will you remain inconspicuous when you are a prime suspect?

Thirdly, how do you convince Pipsqueak that he's being unreasonable?

"Oh for the love of Gryffindor! We can't go sniffing about the crime scene! As soon as someone sees us, we-"

"Then we'll make sure that nobody does!"

I really considered banging my head against the bed post. The same boy that knew A. C. Doyle's most famous book by heart insisted on doing the one thing that would convince even the most trusting and naive people of our supposed guilt.

I heard a deep sigh, coming from my left.

"We'll just vote then," Remus interjected.

He looked like he would like nothing better just to simply put a pillow over his head and ignore Pete's mule-headed stupidity.

"All in favour of investigating the crime scene, raise your hands."

Peter did.

"And against..." I raised my hand and so did Remus. James simply shrugged.

"Don't care either way."

"Then this is taken care of." I nodded, satisfied, but Pipsqueak grumbled silently.

"So what do we do," Jamy-boy wanted to know.

What indeed?

"Why don't we write down what we know," Remus, ever the practical one, suggested. We did so and soon discovered one thing: we knew shit.

For a while we stared at the parchment lined with Remus' precise handwriting.

- Benzen, Elmar (c. 70)

- Herbology Professor

- Extremely ugly

- Not well liked

- Died in Greenhouse Four, yesterday evening

- Killed by AK after a short scuffle

Peter glanced at James, James at me and I at Remus. He simply returned my gaze. Again we shifted our attention towards the piece of parchment. It really wasn't much.

"Well," James said, "er, we could list what we have to find out."

This proposition was met with blank expressions.

"Hmm."

"Uh."

"Ungh."

James' face fell. He looked as if someone had shorn his cat. I took pity and put on a reassuring grin.

"I guess it beats staring at that ruddy paper," I conceded.

This second list was longer (though not by much which was a good thing - less to find out!). It began with the obvious:

- Who killed him?

And went from there to:

- Did they have helpers?

- Was it someone from Hogwarts? Not?

- Who had a reason? (Motives!)

- How did they get away undetected?

- Who does not have an alibi?

- Whom can we exclude?-> 1st and 2nd years and probably 3rd years, as well. (The Killing Curse was just too advanced).

After another short but heated discussion, we came to the conclusion that we'd best be starting by discreetly gathering more information on Benzen (Was he actually married? Did he have kids? - a horrifying thought, that one - Was he rich? And so on...) and thus trying to determine who might have more reason to kill him than just about anybody else who had ever met the man. If possible we would also try to discover who did not have an alibi - just as discreetly, of course.

And naturally we would keep our eyes open for any other hints, like "Is somebody behaving nervously or jumpy? Do they look guilty? Or smug?" and things like that.

I must admit, I did not think it would be quite as much work as it turned out to be. Oh sure, some parts were easy. The Daily Prophet regaled us with background information on Benzen, once they'd got wind of his murder. The man was 71, he had had a wife (49) - though, it was a broken marriage -, he had a daughter, Elizabeth (25), and a son, Edward (21). The most important part being aforementioned had. Lydia Benzen had committed suicide only three days before his murder. The Aurors wouldn't give any statements but if the Prophet was to be believed it was Benzen's own son who killed him. Allegedly Mrs Benzen killed herself because she couldn't stand living with the tyrant anymore and Edward, blinded by grief for his beloved mother, had sought his father out and murdered him.

The story seemed sound enough but something didn't quite ring true: how could a grieving, angry and upset 21-year-old boy come and leave Hogwarts' ground undetected AND kill a professor in cold blood in-between?

Five days after the murder Edward Benzen was arrested and pretty much everybody at the school pretended they had not ever whispered a single accusation against us.

We should have been happy except that we did not think they had caught the right guy.

And it made us uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Who would want to live in a world where innocent people were sent to prison?

Rhetorical question, that one.

Anyway, Edward Benzen's trial was set for July 1st. This, of course, meant that we had to find enough evidence of his innocence (I can rhyme! All hail Sirius Black, poet extraordinaire!) before.

You know, how in stories the hero always just arrives on time to hear an important bit of information that will allow him to rescue the maiden/solve the case/do any other heroic deed? Of course, you do.

Well, unfortunately real life isn't like that. The day of Edward Benzen's trial - and the finals - kept creeping closer and closer and we still had not found one single hint! Though, not for lack of trying. We had learned a good deal of other things, however. For instance, we discovered that there were more inter-House couples than anyone would have assumed and that most of them met in the patch of forest behind the Groundkeeper's garden when he was out doing what Groundkeepers do.

For another, we soon determined that not even the Slytherins had liked Benzen and that they were very glad he was gone.

Which made them the most likely suspects.

Everyone knows that the Snakes are into the Dark Arts, after all - it's a fact of life-, and Benzen was killed by an Unforgivable. Ergo, it had to be a Slytherin (or a Ravenclaw - they study everything - but most likely a Slytherin).

And lastly, we found out something else: we hated Snape with a passion and for a good reason - many of those. Though actually, we already knew that. The prick was vicious, vengeful, had no sense of humour but in its stead a very mean, nasty, cruel and horrible streak. And to top it all he was a whiz at Potions.

I hate him, I hate him, I HATE HIM! Forever!

I've hated him since the first time I ever smelled him and will do so until I take my last breath.

Besides being mean, he was ugly, too.

Anyhow, the worst part - besides the obvious, of course - the worst part, however, was that, instead of showing compassion (as he should, I mean we do as well for him and his problem), someone was laughing his head off at our predicament. It wasn't even a silent chuckle, it was a roaring cacophony of raucous laughter including the full monty of gasping for breath and crying till tears were streaming down his cheeks like the waters of the Niagara Falls. All of this directed at his best friends!

Pipsqueak's girlish giggle interspersed with very unlady-like snorts (but the Peter was MALE - the bastard!), anyway, THEY were bearable compared.

As I glared into the mirror in our bathroom - trying to ignore those prats - James (or what had once been James) smiled at me in commiseration. Actually, it looked more like a grimace but it was the thought that counted.

Or maybe he really was grimacing. I, myself, didn't look to happy either.

"On the plus side," he began.

Wait a moment! I snapped my head around to stare at him. There was a plus side? Well, um, actually, yeah. I mean, there were always two sides to a coin. Exactly. I just had to think positive. There was bound to be something we could gain from it . . . now, I couldn't imagine what it would be but, hey, that's what James was for, wasn't it?

Speaking of him, he still hadn't continued.

"On the plus side," I repeated, urging him to go on.

"Er."

. . .that didn't sound promising.

"Yes?"

"Um."

Expectant silence on my part.

"Actually," James muttered a bit sheepishly, "at the moment I can't think of anything positive."

Uh.

Suddenly Remus howled and fell over, banging his fists against the floor. "Y-you should have – seen your f-face," he gasped.

Unfortunately – what with the fact that I was standing in front of a mirror – I had. Dumbstruck did not even begin to describe it. Actually, it kind of reminded me of the postcard I used as a bookmark. You know, there's some shops that sell this kind, the ones with the funny motives or quotes and stuff. Like the one that's totally pitch-black, except for the white writing, which reads, e.g. "London – at night".

Or "There's no beer like Shakespeare."

Anyhow, the one I finally settled on purchasing (after reading every single one in that particular shop) read "Ever have one of those days?" and showed a little doggie which was about to pee on a hydrant. Emphasis on "about to" because what actually happened was that the hydrant peed on the doggie. The lil' thing looked quite, well, like I had looked just at the moment Remus was referring to.

So back to the point where our local werewolf made his observation, back to the dorm. . . the dorm. Ah! An idea slowly formed. Hehehe, I was bad. So bad. A bad boy. Oh yeah!

"There is a plus side to this," I finally stated, fight the urge to do a little victory dance. That smug grin on my face was threatening to split my head.

"And that would be," James inquired, looking hopeful.

"Well," I began, "the git pranked us."

"Yes."

"And brewed up a potion."

"Yes."

"Which turned us into girls." (Remus howled some more).

"I am aware of that," Jamsie snapped.

I chuckled inwardly, keeping someone in suspense is so much fun! Muahaha!

"Weeelllll-"

"Get – to – the – point." (Another howl).

"That means-"

A quick glance at Jamsie-boy's face told me he was quite at the end of his line. A quick glance at Remus', on the other hand, told me that if I kept this up he might just die of asphyxiation. Good.

I beckoned James closer and whispered in his ear.

"You know, this means we can go places, we couldn't go before. . . like the girls' dorm." I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.

An evil grin was spreading over James' face and I could practically hear his mind working on all the wonderful, delicious opportunities this presented: Revenge on Evans, stolen knickers, messed up make-up. The possibilities were endless. This was gonna be good!